Shield Her, Shield Sweet Hermione
by CeliaEquus
Summary: Hermione has dark plans of revenge against the man who has conquered the wizarding world. A dark fic; not gruesome, but definitely non-canon and OOC. It has excerpts of the gothic poem "Christabel", by Coleridge.


"Shield Her, Shield Sweet Hermione"

The last Mudblood had been captured. She had been evading them for months, ever since Lord Voldemort had killed Harry Potter, and won the war. Well, now they had the bushy-haired Granger girl, and she wasn't getting away from them. Not like the last three times she had escaped.

Restrained, she was brought before Voldemort. She had been tortured for some hours, and not just with the Cruciatus Curse. She had gaping wounds, weeping blood, and bruises that created drops of rainbows upon her taut, pale skin.

"So," Voldemort said, looking down at Hermione, where she had been thrown to the floor at his feet. "Mudblood. Best friend of the late Harry Potter." He grinned, and squatted down in front of her. He tilted her head up, but she kept her eyes on the ground. "Look at me, my dear. Come now."

She raised her brown eyes to his red ones. The smile left his face, and was instead replaced by a slight frown.

"Yes?" she said.

"What do you have to say for yourself? Any last words?"

She tilted her head, and leaned closer to his face. He found himself wanting to get nearer, too, but waited to see what she was going to do.

"_I may dislodge their reptile souls_," she whispered, "_from the bodies and forms of men_."

"What?" he said, scowl deepening. She didn't move, and his eyes flitted around the room. "Leave us. She's unarmed and weak. And clearly not in full possession of her wits." His Death Eaters left. When they were alone, he stood, and returned to his throne. "Now, Miss Granger. Hermione. What was it you were saying?"

"_A snake's small eye blinks dull and shy_," she stood, "_and the lady's eyes they shrunk in her head_." She began to walk to him. "_Each shrunk up to a serpent's eye_," she climbed the first step, "_and with somewhat of malice, and more of dread_." She stood in front of Lord Voldemort, who didn't move.

"I would appreciate it," he finally said, "if you made some sense, Miss Granger. After all, you are supposed to have been the brightest student at Hogwarts since… well, since my days."

"I would have thought, Lord Voldemort," she said, and he growled, "that _you_ would appreciate riddles." She smirked at his angry expression, but then the amusement faded from her once-lively eyes. "You killed my family. You killed my friends. Hell, you even killed some of my enemies, but I cannot thank you for that." She stepped right in between his legs. "Why can you not feel what you have done?"

"This reptile's soul was long ago dislodged," he said, "to paraphrase your words."

"Not _my_ words," she said. So it was true. Horcruxes. Well, one at least. He could be killed if… "But that hardly matters."

"What do you want with me?" he asked, voice dropping to a whisper as she placed her hands on his arms, leaning even closer.

"I want to…" With a sudden movement, she straddled his lap, and pressed her lips to his. This time, he moved.

What a wonderful kind of revenge. Oh, if Harry Potter could see his little friend now, making out with the Dark Lord! Well, he'd certainly help her along with this. With that in mind, he responded to her kiss with great enthusiasm.

Finally, she pulled back, and took his face in her hands.

"What was that for?" he asked.

"Did you like it?"

"Interestingly enough, yes."

"Would you like to do it again?"

"Oh, that and much more." He ran his hands down her back.

"Good. Do what you want with me, then."

He grinned.

* * *

Five months later, Hermione was still alive, and providing Voldemort with whatever he wanted from her. They were alone in his throne room one day, in the same position they were when she had first kissed him. He had become quite tender with her over time, though not so slowly that she hadn't noticed. Two months ago, he had noticed something himself, _about_ himself. He had quite fallen for her.

Yet he didn't know, didn't allow himself to suppose, that she didn't feel the same way. As Hermione was the more emotional person, he assumed that she'd adore him, too.

Oh, what a mistake that had been.

He had made a further mistake by teaching her wandless magic, just so that she would smile at him. And smile she did, thanking him most thoroughly after each lesson.

"Hermione," he said, breaking from another kiss. "Will you marry me?"

"Well," she said, nuzzling his neck, "it depends. Do you… regret having killed my family and friends? Do you regret all the murders you've ever committed?" She gazed into his eyes, stroking his cheeks softly, tenderly. "Please say you do, darling."

"Of course," he said. "I'm sorry I ever made you unhappy. I'm sorry I ever made you cry. Please forgive me."

"I do," she said.

"I love you."

"You really feel regret, don't you?"

"Yes," he said. And he did. He felt true remorse.

Without noticing, his soul patched together.

"Then yes," she said, and she rubbed noses with him. "I'll marry you."

With that, his soul fused within him, and Hermione saw it. She saw the magic shining through his eyes, and smiled. He was happy. He wouldn't know what had hit him. She kissed him again, and felt his arms tighten. Her hands covered his ears as she held his head. Voldemort began to trace her neck with his lips. As soon as she knew he was distracted, she whispered the two words.

"Avada Kedavra."

A flash of green went from her right hand, the curse killing him immediately.

"At least he died thinking that he was loved," she said. Damn Gryffindor nobility. Even when she was planning to kill someone, she wanted them to be happy first.

The Death Eaters, having felt their master's death through their Dark Marks, ran into the room. She never turned, only smirked, even as a dozen Killing Curses hit her.

_The maid, alas! her thoughts are gone,_

_She nothing sees – no sight but one!_

_The maid, devoid of guile and sin,_

_I know not how, in fearful wise,_

_So deeply had she drunken in_

_That look, those shrunken serpent eyes…_

**

* * *

**

The bits in italic, both what Hermione said, and the last six lines, are all quotes from the epic (and unfinished) poem "Christabel", by Samuel Taylor Coleridge. I did an oral presentation on it last semester—got a Distinction minus for it, too!—and some of the passages reminded me of Voldemort and his Death Eaters. So I picked these three quotes, and decided to use them in a story.

**Yes, this tale is different from my usual fare, but we all have to branch out at some stage. Or, at least, we should.**

**Dark and OOC. So what? I almost feel sorry for Voldemort, having been deceived by Hermione. And what good did killing him do? Well, she got revenge, and that's the point.**

**The title comes from a phrase used a couple of times in the poem: "Shield her, shield sweet Christabel!"**

**So please review, and tell me how I did for my first Hermione/Voldemort story. I've got others planned, but they're all chaptered stories. Anyway, hope to see you then!**


End file.
